Numinous
by parchment-ly
Summary: Rose was your typical medical experiment. She grew up in a secret government facility, trained under the greatest assassins in the world, and ended up fighting aside Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Typical. What's not typical is her uncanny similarities to America's favorite super-soldier, or the way she can lose herself entirely when upset. OC & "other Avenger" story & no tag slash
1. Prologue

**WARNING! Some gore at the very beginning, if you don't want to read it, I've underlined**** it, so just skip past. Otherwise, go forth my readers!**

**Prologue**

A man watches from above, his eyes glinting excitedly. His plaid dress shirt is meticulously tucked into khaki pants, and he is draped in a starched white lab coat. A sharp-edged clip-board resting on his arm is thick with lab reports, medical records, and observation notes.

_ 5:36. Convulsions. Head wound, just off the forehead. Bullet wound in the shoulder. Possibly fractured wrist. Patient occasionally sobs. Shocks administered for each outcry._

"P-Please!"

And the girl screamed again as she was shocked. The saw came down, roaring and ripping into the air. It bit into her palm, and shredded its way down to the bone. The blade drew back up, leaving torn skin and a pool of blood in its wake.

"_No!_"

Below his earlier observation notes, the doctor wrote down "5:37. Deeply cut palm. Heavy blood loss. Head wound gone. Wrist straightened. Bullet is beginning to come out of shoulder."

Just as his pencil touched down to his clipboard to jot down the girl's scream on a separate chart, an announcement was heard overhead.

"_Doctor Biscelli, to room 107 please. Doctor Biscelli to room 107._"

Doctor Biscelli sighed, putting down his clipboard and holding down a finger on his control panel to speak into a small microphone.

"All right boys, clean it up. Move patient R into the observance room. Remember to mark down the time...wouldn't want any _mishaps_ like last time."

The other two doctors, who had been performing behind the bullet-proof lab glass, nodded. One moved to the wall, pressed a red button, and watched as the girl they had earlier been leaning over dropped below the ground, presumably into another lab. They removed their masks and pulled off their gloves, and the doctor who had earlier pressed the button moved over to a mop and bucket in the corner, eyeing the bright red patch of blood on the floor, where the girl had been, disgustedly. It was the only blemish in the bright, chromed room.

Doctor Biscelli slipped his thin-framed glasses into his breast pocket and strode down the long the hallway of the third floor's lab. He caught an elevator and shot down to the base floor. It was not often the doctor wound up on base level—his quarters were on level seven, like all other head supervisors; all department head meetings were held on floor two; the cafeteria was on floor six, along with the showers and guest rooms. No, the base floor was strictly business: the base floor was Director Rische's floor.

The closer he came to room 107, the more nervous he became. His heart beat like shoes in a dryer—heavy, loud, sporadic. What was needed? Surely he hadn't forgotten to submit his weekly lab report for patients R, S, or U? Had he, or one of his workers, harmed a piece of valuable lab equipment? He ran through various possibilities, all seeming more unlikely than the next. He was Frederick Biscelli; he did not make mistakes. That was why he was here.

But then again, Director Rische was very moody. As the boss of the entire organization, he could easily fire anybody who got in his way, or so much as blinked too loudly. It was not unheard of for a scientist every now and again to go missing and never be heard from again. But a department leader of a level-C classified project, such as Frederick? Never.

He stopped at the end of the first floor's hallway to straighten out his coat, fix his hair in the reflection of a window, and calm his nerves. He was not in trouble. Even if he was, he could easily deny everything. Couldn't he?

Knocking soundly on the door, twice, earned him silence. The doctor stared at the rich mahogany door anxiously, debating with his raised hand whether he should knock again. But just as he was about to lower his fist on the wood again, a throaty growl came out.

"Enter."

He turned the golden knob quickly, stepping in with a self-assured smile, which dropped immediately upon entry. The cold metal against his temple gained pressure with its cocking. He glared forward, raising his hands above his head.

"I suppose you're the CIA, or FBI? Something along those lines, yes?"

"I regret to inform you, Doctor Biscelli," said a man dressed in all black, stepping forward, "that we are much, much worse."

The man was the one who had called for Frederick to enter. He wore an eye patch, something that would have been comical if not for his deathly serious appearance. His black trench coat spoke the name "suspicious," and the pistol in his hand did not communicate otherwise.

"Where are they?"

The doctor tilted his head, faking ignorance. "Come again?" The gun pressed harder against his head. He shot a sidelong glance of annoyance at the brunette woman holding the weapon.

"The children!" growled the man. "Known in your data bases as patients A through Z."

Frederick allowed a short bark of laughter escape his thin lips. "You must hold some _faith,_ sir, in thinking there are still so many. Twenty-six children? We lost two alone last week!"

"How many do you have left?"

"I'd say just around three. We are, however, planning on getting rid of two. We've basically perfected our serum-"

"I didn't come here to hear you brag. What I need, Doctor, is for you to come quietly and give us the kids."

"About that-"

Frederick ducked below the gun and slammed his hands against the wall. Just as a carefully-aimed arrow lodged its way into the back of his neck, high-pitched alarms went off throughout the building. As the dead doctor slumped to the floor in a head, the button on the wall was revealed.

"Damnit!" the man shouted, turning to his troops. "Search every room, every floor. We need these kids alive! And seal off the exits; nobody gets in or out!"

"Yes, Director Fury!"

"These kids aren't dying on my watch..."


	2. Chapter 1

** Five Years Later**

"_Clear the deck! Go, go!_"

Rose sighed as she heard the shouts from outside. The window was open, and a cool breeze ruffled her textbooks. Her blunt bangs tickled the tops of her eyes, the faint tips of blonde visible as she watched her teached daigram something on the board. She longed to be outside, if not on the flight deck then at least out of the classroom. Somewhere, anywhere-

"Rose, I know you don't want to be here, but Agent Coulson and Director Fury said-"

"No, I know. I know. A basic conceptual foundation of ah, partical physics, it's important, right? I'm gunna need that one day while I'm off fighting the bad guys...I appreciate it, honest."

The teacher scowled. "A little less sarcasm, if you will."

"I won't—"

"But yes, it will come in handy if you ever had to go undercover in, say, a top-secret research and development lab."

"They wouldn't _put_ me in a lab."

"Things change-"

"But people? People don't. Not really. I wouldn't be put in a lab."

"If we could just get back to pysics-"

Rose stood up, sweeping her textbooks into her arms. "Class dismissed," she said, a soft smile gracing her face.

Despite-ah, what was her name? Cindy? Carol? Christine? Christie, that was it-Despite Christie's protests, Rose strode into the hall, her dress drastically contasting with the polished gray floors and gray walls. She found herself walking down this hallway constantly, always skipping out on "school." It wasn't that she didn't like school—on the contrary, she loved learning and reading out of textbooks and even doing the homework. School made her feel normal. But what she hated was her teachers. They changed frequently, as whoever wasn't deployed on a mission at the time would have "Rose duty." She resented the way they thought of her as a chore to be done, and how they thought less of her for simply being herself.

Though, Rose _was_ an oddity among SHIELD's collection; she was always wearing some sort of bright outfit, usually a casual dress, and she was always smiling or telling a joke. The part that got to most people, though, was that she had never been deployed. She knew it was only because of Phil and Nick's overprotective tendancies that she hadn't been sent out yet. But that didn't stop the agents from talking.

"That Rose," they'd say, "too sweet and soft for a mission."

She was always too fragile—too weak—for them. Of course, she had been trained by SHIELD's top agents since she was around ten, and had several deadly things up her sleeve, rendering that gossip incorrect. The fact still remained, though, that their petty suppositions would never cease to be annoying.

She turned down a few more hallways and piled her textbooks next to her room's door. Without the key to her room (which she was supposed to have gotten from Phil after class), she couldn't do very much just yet. Walking out of the hallway and into the B-wing, she passed two agents and waved quickly with a smile. They nodded back, but didn't stop to exchange words. Not because they didn't know Rose—everybody did, after all—but because you couldn't just stop and chat when the world was at stake.

Again, Rose questioned why she should be sitting in a schoolroom when the world needed her and her powers.

The doors opened for her as she swept into the control room of the hellicarrier. She smiled as soon as her eyes landed on a glimpse of red hair.

"Tasha!"

Agent _Romanoff_ spun around at the call of her name. She looked at Rose, frowning as she took in her thin frame.

"Shouldn't you still be in school?"

Rose's grin widened. "Why ask a question when you know the answer?"

"Why answer a question with a question?"

"Why not?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a small upward tug coming from both corners of her mouth.

"Are they here, then?" Rose asked, glancing around the large area. "Dr. Bruce Banner and ah, Mr. Steve Rogers?"

"Captain Rogers," Natasha corrected, "is over by Agent Coulson. Dr. Banner just went into his lab."

"Has Phil shown Steve his trading cards yet?"

"I doubt it, seeing as the Captain hasn't been on board more than ten minutes."

"Well," Rose said, standing up, "we'll just have to fix that. Those cards are his wife, kids, and dog."

"...You're mint...Slight foxing around the edges but-"

"The color's barely even faded, they look amazing," Rose said, walking up to Phil and the Captain. "Took him the better half of forever to find them, mind you, but worth every second."

Steve nodded shakily, as if still processing the fact _he had his own trading cards. _Phil's eyebrows creased as he looked at her. He opened his mouth to talk, but she beat him to it.

"As I've already told Agent Romanoff, I've decided to take a...field trip, you could say." Rose's smile never faltered as she turned back to Steve. "My name is Rose, and my favorite food is spaghetti and meatballs. The one decent thing they serve in the mess hall."

Steve grinned and shook the hand she offered. "My name is Steve, and my favorite food is apple pie. I'll remember to keep an eye out for that spaghetti, though."

He seemed glad to have an excuse to smile. After all, not many people at SHIELD were willing to let down their tought exterior to smile at somebody or even engage in small talk. Perhaps that was why so many people appreciated Rose for her tension relief, even if they did question her authority. Phil stilled looked unhappy.

"Rose, you can't keep walking out of class. It's not-"

"-We got a hit! Sixty-seven percent match."

"Well, Phyllis, look's like this is gonna have to wait. Ooh!"

"Wait...cross-match! Seventy-nine percent!"

"I told you not to call me that," Phil said as he walked towards the agent. "Location?"

"Stuttgart, Germany?" Rose read, coming up behind Phil. She glanced at the video footage of a man with slick black hair, dressed up in a tuxedo."That's Loki, right?"

Phil nodded. "The one and only."

She squinted thoughtfully. "Loki, he's...well, he's not being very low-key, is he?"

The agent snorted. "Terrible pun, Ms. Rose, but points for trying."

"Captain," Fury called from across the room, "you're up."

Steve nodded once, and turned out of the door to the left, the glass door shutting softly in his wake.

"Ooh, shotgun on the Quinjet! Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!" Rose was bouncing slightly on her heels, grinning widely at Fury.

"No. Absolutely not-"

"Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed," she said, not dropping her grin. "Can't refuse a shotgun _cubed_, Saint Nick, so I'm just going to have to ignore that Thing-You-Just-Said."

She turned to leave as well, snatching a gun from an agent's holster. The agent didn't notice, and she raised her gun up into the air, as if to showcase it to the room.

"Bang bang!" she cried. "Just in case!"

"Rose! You are not going to Germany! It's dangero-"

She walked towards the door, still seemingly ignoring Fury. "Dangerous should be a proper noun with you, Mr. Killjoy. Everything's dangerous around here. _That's the entire point!_" Her voice rang into the Bridge as the door finally closed behind her.

Fury massaged his temples. "Coulson," he barked, "at least go get her a com device. And be sure to inform her, for all it's worth, she's in trouble with me."

Coulson had a small smile played on his face, and he slid on a pair of shades. "Can do, Director."

The agent who had been robbed of his gun earlier sat sniggering in his chair.

"And what the hell are you laughing about?" Agent Hill glared.

"_Saint Nick,_" he giggled, and muffled laughter rand throughout the Bridge from various stations.

"I'm going to kill that girl," Fury mumbled under his breath.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Do you even know _how_ to co-pilot a Quinjet?" Natasha asked, zipping up her boot.

"Of _course_ not. Don't ask stupid questions," Rose handed Tasha her other boot, and sighed.

The sky above them was graying, preparing for a rain, and the wind had picked up considerably. Both girls' hair was whipping around, and they'd had to raise their voices to be able to be heard over the whistling that came from the wind blowing through the planes. The ocean several hundred feet beneath them churned, dark navy. _It will be better, _Rose rationalized_, in Germany._

"We're just going to keep on letting Nick think I managed to learn how to co-pilot a Quinjet under his radar, and see how that one blows over. Until then, you're going to co-pilot and we're getting David to pilot. He's a real sweetie, owes me a favor, will keep up the zipper-lips for my game with the Pirate."

Natasha snorted, straigtening herself out. "I'm surprised Fury hasn't dumped you in the middle of the desert yet, the way you mess with him."

"Oh, as much as I press his buttons, Fury knows he needs me. I'm the only sane one in this entire organization!"

An eye roll. "Sane compared to the rest of us, sure. But not entirely sane in and of yourself."

"Ouch, Tasha, you wound me."

"I try."

The duo walked up to the readying Quinjet, a man standing by the loading terminal.

"How's my lovely flower today?"

Rose grinned. "Oh, I'm grand. I'm on a roller-coaster that only goes up, my friend."

David's smile brightened. "Good to hear, good to hear...So!" he turned to Natasha, lowering his voice. "Stuttgart, Germany? Are we waiting for anybody, or are we in the clear?"

"We're waiting for Captain Rogers," she said. "But it seems he's coming now, so I'd say we can load."

Rose turned around, and saw Steve in his Captain America suit, looking lost. "Steve!"

He perked up at the sound of his name, and quickly closed the distance between himself and the small group.

"Germany! _Nice!_ Do you speak German? I speak German. Correction, _Ich spreche Deutsch_. Lots and lots of _Deutsch. _Fun, fun times."

Steve was smiling and looking as if he had nothing to say. "I, uh—well, not, not really-"

"_Ignore _her, please, she's too excited for her own good. Let's just load, we're losing time."

"Ah, ah, Tasha not yet." she leaned over and pecked her redheaded friend on the cheek, and did the same to Steve. "Kiss for luck, you two are good to go. Now where's David..."

Steve blinked and heaved his shield up over his back, attaching it. "Is that a normal thing? Do people, you know, do they kiss that much nowadays? In public?"

"That's just Rose," Natasha said, climbing into the co-pilot seat. "It's kind of her pre-mission ritual. We all have one, one way or another. She's been doing that since she got into SHIELD."

"She's really young," Steve pointed out.

"Fifteen is not young," Rose said, coming in with David. "Besides, when Tasha started, she was the same age I was when I started. And look at her! You see this? This is what will kill you from one hundred feet away with a wad of gum and a screwdriver. Natasha is the definition of SHIELD perfection."

"You flatter me," Natasha deadpanned, flipping switches to assist David with the plane's start-up.

"Oh, I know. You should really just ditch Clint for me, I'm so much-" she stopped suddenly, seeing Natasha tense. It wasn't easily seen, but to the trained eye, the slight clench of her shoulders was a dead giveaway. "Right, yes, this is where 'oops, my bad' comes into play. I'm sorry, Tasha. Though, maybe you should have a little more faith in our very own residential Katniss. He's bound to come back eventually, the way you've got him whipped."

Natasha shook her head, but her eyes seemed less hard, from what Rose could see from her refelction in the windshield. "I've taught you well. You know how to correctly and affectively cover up a misstep."

"S'cause I do it with a smile. People say I'm 'charming.'"

"Define 'people'-"

"Alright, buckle up... or not, I'm not your mom. Either way, we're preparing for lift-off. In three, two, one..."

And the plane gained speed, so Rose sat back in her seat and stared at Steve, who seemed very interested in his thumbs.

"Steve, would you like to hear about the evolution of phones?"

He looked up, eyes wide. "Oh, uhm, I'm not sure I'll really understand—I mean, they tried to assign somebody to me to explain all that, but I didn't really get—"

"Calm down, I said evolution. It's just ABC, not A^2 plus B^2 equals C^2. That's the Pythagoream Theorem, by the way. Learned that a few years ago. Very useful if you like triangles."

"Well," he said, looking slightly more relaxed. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to learn a bit more about modern technology..."

"Oh, you'd be surprised...But, anyway, as you know, telephones were a common household item by the end of the 1920s. You know that, right? Now, the small little pieces of metal you see everybody holding? Those are cell phones, which didn't really start until very recently. The 80s, that's when it became handheld..."

-3 hours later-

Steve was toying with her iPhone, frowning. "So, the 4G, it makes it faster? But you can only use it in certain zones?"

"Yep, you got it. It all comes down to your carrier, though-"

"Approaching Stuttgart in two minutes. We all ready back there?"

Steve handed Rose her phone back, and she nodded at him.

"If you're nervous about being out of commission for so long, don't be." Steve nodded along with her words, but his eyes betrayed him. He looked like a lost puppy, unprepared for what was out there. It wasn't often Steve went into a fight blind—sure, he'd done it with the Howling Tornadoes, but this was different—this was a god. How was he supposed to go up against a-"SMILE!"

He looked up as a small flash went off, and Rose turned around her phone so Steve could see. It was a photgraph of himself, and he looked terrified. He felt himself frown.

"See? See this? This is not Captain America. This is a very lame Steve Rogers. Now..."

She toyed around on her phone, and pulled up the image again, except this time he appeared smiling, a stronger look in his eyes.

"How...?"

"Photoshop junkie in my spare time," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Now, who would you rather be? This guy, the guy who basically won World War II and saved countless lives, or the other guy, who looked about ready to wet himself?"

Steve flushed, feeling like he was being scolded by a school teacher. "That guy," he mumbled pointing at the image, which smiled back at his pointing finger.

"_Exactly_," she said, grinning. "Now stand up, jump out of this plane, and go help the Germans! _Jetzt oder nie!_"

Rose couldn't be sure if he felt more confident or just looked it, but as he stood up and got ready to jump out of the plane and fight Loki, there was an unmistakable glint of courage in his eyes. He dropped once the terminal opened, and the jet hovered around to get a better view of the conflict.

"Nice pep talk, Rose," Natasha said, voice steely, before turning to a small microphone. "Loki, drop the weapon and stand down!"

The speakers attached the the jet amplified the command, and Loki, from what Rose could see, looked amused. He raised his septor, and then-

Rose grabbed on to a handrail at the last second, struggling to hold on as the jet dodged a blast from Loki. As soon as they leveled out again, she flitted over to the controls.

"This guys an ass," she frowned, watching Steve and Loki wrestle about. "And he's everywhere, too—worse than a six-year-old with a shot of espresso."

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but was interupted as AC/DC's "Shoot to Thrill" overrode the Quinjet's speakers.

"Agent Romanoff, did you miss me?"

Rose grinned, whipping around to look at Natasha. "This is Tony Stark, right? I like him already! _AC/DC!_"

Iron Man swooped past their window and stopped in front of Loki. He raised his hand, ready to shoot a repulsor beam, but Loki raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender. His golden armor faded, and he was left in a very fancy-schmancy _thing. _Rose wasn't sure what to call it, but it looked reminiscent of an 18th century ball gown.

"Rose, go help them load Loki up."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n" she mock saluted, and hopped off the plane.

She walked straight up to Loki, and smiled.

"My name is Rose, and you are a self-absorbed asshat who killed eighty people in two days. Not very nice, I think, but maybe it's different where you come from," her eyes widened, and she turned to Steve. "Kindly disregard the cuss, girls didn't do that in the forties. Oops..." She turned back to Loki, who was glaring at her. "I sure hope they don't just kill people back where you're from, because that would be horribly miserable and very, extremely not fun. Not fun, not in the slightest, and I'm all about fun."

She turned to Tony, who had his faceplate off.

"As you heard, I'm Rose, and I would very much appreciate if you could lead the self-absorbed asshat who killed eighty people in two days back up to the Quinjet. Please and thank-you." She side-stepped them, and turned to Steve.

"I did it again. I owe two dollars to the swear jar when I get back to HQ."

"Three!" David called from inside. "You called 'im an ass earlier, too!"

"Shit," she muttered, then looked up, eyebrows clenched. "And I don't think I have any singles...Hmm..._Fuck. _Yep, that should do it._"_

She winked at Steve then walked into the cabin, taking a seat across from Loki. He seemed very uninterested in the entire ordeal, and that seemed better than him being violent. Steve walked in and stood next to Tony, who was staring at Rose.

Once they took off, Tony approached her.

"You know this already, but I'm Tony Stark. Genious, billionaire, playboy, philantropist...You name it, I've got it."

"An ego the size of Manhatten? _Check._" She smiled at his glare, and pushed back her bangs. "In all honesty, I'm impressed by your work in mechanical engineering, especially the whole Iron Man thing. Nice choice of colors by the way, very _fort et mémorable."_

"Not sure what that means, but thanks. Assuming it was a compliment. _Sounded_ like a compliment. Sounded _French_, actually..."

"Was French."

"_Ah._" He nodded, and wandered back over to Steve.

Fury's voice picked up from the speakers. "Said anything?"

"Not a word." Natasha's voice was even, professional. Just like it always was in front of the director.

"Just get him here. We're low on time."

Natasha nodded, but said nothing in reply.

"Tell Fury I said hi!"

"No."

"_Tasha."_

Natasha gritted her teeth, and leaned back into the microphone. "Rose is still alive, but I'm not sure how much longer that'll last."

"Oh, _rude!_"

Fury's voice paged back in, an air of laughter trailing his words. "Isn't that always the case?"

"As usual, Director, you're right."

"Quickly, Romanoff. The cell is ready."

The com shut off, and Rose turned to the skies. Thunder. Coming out of nowhere. She frowned, turning back around to see Loki's uneasy expression. The jet swerved slightly, dodging a streak of lightning.

"David, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've never flown before!" Rose faced Loki, who was looking intently out the window. "What's got your panties in a bunch? Thunder isn't your cup of tea?"

He stared at her blankly. "I know not what you mean."

"Too many idioms..._right_, that was my bad, sorry." She sat up straighter, then leaned forward. "Are you-"she gestured to Loki"-scared-"she mimicked a horrified face"-of thunder?" She made a wild movement with her arms, and then motioned towards the sky.

Loki's eyes turned hard, and his lips pressed tightly, as if biting back a retort. "I'm not overly fond of what follows," he said, glancing at the window again.

She was about to question what he meant, but the plane was abruptly struck by a flash of light. Something heavy landed on the roof, and suddenly there was a man standing in the leading terminal. Rose recognized him from some of the classified files she'd nabbed from Coulson. He was Thor, Prince of Asgard.

"Woah," she said, eyes locked on his hammer.

Before anybody could stop him, he had grabbed Loki and jumped out of the jet. Tony quickly grabbed his faceplate and made to go after them.

"Wait!" Steve said. "We need a plan of attack."

"I have a plan," Tony said, closing his faceplate. "_Attack._"

Rose saw this as her oppurtunity. "Can I-"

"Oh _hell_ no." Natasha didn't even look up.

"But I-"

"No."

"_I can fly!_ I can _do_ this!"

"Flying and fighting are two very different things." Tasha noticed Steve, who had been putting on a parachute. "I'd sit this one out, Cap."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows at the thought. "I don't see how I can."

"These guys come from legends, they're basically Gods." Natasha made eye contact with Rose as she said it.

"There's only one God, ma'am. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that." And with that, Steve had jumped out of the jet.

"Oh, _come on. _He can do it, but I can't?"

"He's superhuman."

"So am I!"

"He's legal."

"He's _90 years old!_"

"You're in a dress."

"_He's in Spandex!"_

Natasha sighed heavily. "If I can't talk you out of this, will you at least say, with David as witness, it's not my fault if you die."

Rose grinned hard, her cheeks hurting at the force. "Oh, no! You tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen," she back up to the very edge of the plane terminal, feeling the wind whip around her. "Just jumped right out of the plane, if you'd believe that! The _nerve_-!"

**A/N: TFIOS reference, anyone?**


End file.
